Love's Last Light
by LiRi
Summary: Bakura is a normal highschool boy in all ways but one. He has an abusive Yami, who uses him to do his will. Is Y. Bakura just pretending to be this way, or is he truly heartless? RR!
1. Abuse

Denial is a precious thing, and ignorance is bliss. To walk through life, oblivious to pain and poverty, is a blessing that I used to never count. To be able to attend school with nothing to worry about but the upcoming test, to be able to wear short-sleeved shirts on sweaty summer days, with no scars or bruises drawing on people's curiosity and suspicion, that is fortune. I once had all this, once, when my life was easy, and I was just another face in the crowd. Once, when I didn't dwell in depression and sorrow, or cry softly into the pillow at night. Once, when I still had my childhood.  
  
Yugi never had to go through what I go through. He was lucky, he was blessed, and yet instead of counting the stars that smile down upon him, he yearns for more blessings, for more stars to twinkle at night. He wants to save the world. He wants to be the savior for every human being that's alive. He doesn't want to work on his own life first, only theirs. He doesn't even want to help his friends unless they help him first. He doesn't want to help me gain a few of my own stars; he only wants them all for him. He wants to be a hero. I want to be an average Joe. That's all I want, and yet it seems that what Yugi was born with has escaped me, just like ignorance and oblivion. It's not fair, it's really not fair at all, but no body cares about what's fair. They only care about Yugi, the one that has it easy.  
  
Sometimes I feel bad about being so desolate, as if I don't have a right to be. There could be so many people out there who have it far worse than me, who are not only trapped within their bodies, but within their minds. I pity those people and pray for them with all my might, even as my body is manipulated and used, and my life is falling apart at my feet, I pray for others to have happiness in life, as I will never have. I pray it as he hits me, pray it as he blackmails me and enslaves me to his will.  
  
"WIMP," he shouts mentally, throwing a punch to my abdomen without even moving, "CAN'T EVEN BUST A BANK!" He leans into a shove on my walls, tumbling them down to the ground like shredded paper, they are so weak. I sense a presence poking around the mists of my mind, searching for me. I curl into a ball, hiding myself from his probing, sinking ever deeper into my subconscious, praying over and over again, faster and faster.  
  
I can't do anything for those who are less fortunate than me unless I help myself first. And the only way to do that seems to be to succumb to Bakura's will. So why didn't I rob the bank? Why didn't I act like a man and take the money, just as Bakura wanted me to? Who would care that I stole a few coins to save myself a punishment? A sick smile spread out around me, full of hatred and lust for pain. It enveloped me, triumphant and encouraging of my present thoughts, carelessly unguarded and veiled as if to flaunt the fact that I could do nothing to hurt my master even when he had no walls. The smile grew wider and meaner as I gasped and began to shiver. Something felt wrong, foreign and awkward in my thoughts. I shouldn't be contemplating the rights and wrongs of my refusal - there is nothing right about robbing a bank! Nothing!  
  
Still, though, a part of my mind insisted on my stupidity, and that revealing smile never faltered, just faded from the mists of my mind as naturally as water evaporates.  
  
Eventually I woke up in my own body, sprawled on the floor, limp and as useless as a corpse. A rough and sandy carpet cushioned my face about as well as a rock, only adding pain to the growing list. My eyes didn't seem to be working, all I saw was swirling mounds of black and brown and hundreds of neon dots blinking in and out of sight. I must have been out longer than I'd expected.  
  
"Get up," was my good-morning call.  
  
"Bakura?" My voice was raspy with misuse, and I had to try again, just to see if I could still talk. It came out as a rusty croak, but he heard.  
  
"No, Death. Get up." I struggled to my feet, but was apparently too slow for him, for in the next second, an arm was snaked around my waist and pulling me up to my full height. I righted myself with his help, before being abruptly turned around.  
  
The next thing I new I was back on the ground with a flaming cheek and a crushing foot atop my chest. "Weakling," was his only word, but it left me with a feeling of embarrassment and shame even as he grabbed me by the collar and lifted me up again, the material bunching beneath his fingers as he drew me off the ground and closer to his own face. I felt awkward as the cloth tightened uncomfortably around my skin, keeping me from falling, and yet digging into my nape and back at the same time.  
  
His breath mingled with mine, not unpleasant, and yet not exactly fresh at he same time. It blew the tendrils from my face as he snorted, looking me up and down, from my feet dangling an inch above the ground and back to meet my frightened gaze. "Of all males, it had to be you, the she-boy." He looked as if he wanted to spit, but instead he threw me back down, again, hard. My shoulders slammed into the floor and my head snapped back, bouncing from the cheap carpet. Spots danced and whirled before my eyes, again, playing with the posters on the walls and the bright lamp by my bed.  
  
My instinct was screaming at me to run, but my body wouldn't respond, wouldn't even twitch. I looked up at the very image of myself bending over me, getting closer and closer. My own lucky jacket was on my thin and delicate shoulders, tossed over the blank long-sleeved I wear to cover up the bruises. My hair, colorless and long swept passed the shoulders, framing my delicate and slightly long face, brushing past my eyes. How could I be so cruel to myself?  
  
Once again, I was hauled up by the collar, but this time, instead of punching me or throwing me against the wall, he turned, me with him, and shoved me onto the bed. My eyes were shut tight and hard, tense just like the rest of my body in anticipation for the blow. My eyes flew open in shock as the mattress cushioned my fall, and I stayed there, sprawled and thankful to be on something comfortable.  
  
I looked up at him, afraid and confused, but he only stared down at me with a sick expression. Eventually it twisted into an exaggerated self-pitying look that brought a bright red flush to my already scarlet face.  
  
His eyes were staring at me intensely, rapt on my face. I began to sweat and avert my eyes, willing for him to stop that creepy look. My arm shivered, goose bumps crawling up to my shoulder as my blood seemed to pound harder and harder until I felt as if my veins would burst. Eventually, as if I were a puppet, my hand moved up into the air, hovering on an invisible string without my will. Fear clutched its icy fingers at my heart, clawing at my instinct. I wanted to run from this thing, run from my own limb! I gasped up at Bakura, who was smiling again. My breath came out in short, abrupt gasps. "M-make it stop! MAKE I-IT STOP!" A weak and high pitched voice choked out the plea, barely shoving past the lump in my throat.  
  
As I watched, confused tears blurring my vision, my fingers coiled into a fist, slowly and painfully, digging the nails into my palm. It moved, and faster than ever, I was doubled up on the bed, staring at my own hand as it gripped me up again and punched me, right in the spot that Bakura always did - the soft part of the stomach. I bit my tongue to keep from screaming, feeling the blood dribble out after the next hit. I crumpled, my head in my knees, one arm covering my neck.  
  
It was at this moment that I truly realized how much of a coward I am. Yugi doesn't get pushed around like this because he doesn't let any one beat him up. Or, at least, Yami doesn't. But how could I? I have nothing! No powers, no real friends that would help me out in the dead of night. Only a traitorous arm and a powerful Yami... Just thinking about standing up to him ran a shiver down my spine, a tremble through my shoulders. The thoughts were traitorous to myself, tiny rays of false hope that beckon me to follow until I step out onto a cloud of fake beliefs that suddenly gives way beneath me. I'll fall and fall and fall into more of Bakura's abuse.  
  
I waited for the next blow, eyes shut tight and tensed. Eons passed, hours and hours. I waited, afraid, and yet no longer in anticipation. My breath mingled on the covers until I had to shift to get more air. As I did so, something of me collapsed, and my arm was mine again, normal, if a bit sore, and mine to control. I brought it under me and prayed my thanks. 


	2. Dead Day

It was morning, and I had to get up. It's just what you do in the morning, get up, no matter how tired or in pain you are. You just roll off the bed and put on some clothes before hurrying to school. That's what I did now, despite my mental and physical protest. Maybe I wouldn't have, maybe I would have defied the rules if a buzzard wasn't screaming in my ear, but there it was, cold and heartless in its attempt to wake me up. I picked the alarm clock up and slammed it against the wall - hard - smiling when I heard it go silent as it slid to the floor, merely a bunch of scrap metal. The clock's me and I'm Bakura, and no one can hurt me or wake me up when I don't want to be woken if I'm Bakura.  
  
I pulled on a new T-shirt and jacket, leaving my jeans that I'd worn yesterday when I passed out on, too tired or lazy to do much else.  
  
Walking into the bathroom, clutching at my side as I did so, I limped through the hall, my right leg numb for some reason. I passed my parents' room nosily, but only got a loud 'SHUT UP.' They had to know that I'm in pain, what with my grunts of effort, and yet they didn't care. They never cared and probably would never care, even if I died. No one would. Why was I even trying to get a little sympathy?  
  
Like always, I took some pills for my pain and bandaged my stomach tightly with strips of cloth I kept under the sink. It never helped, there is no reason that it would, but I did it anyway because *I* cared, and if I didn't, Bakura would do it for me, which is never pleasant.  
  
It's my job to keep his vessel in tip-top shape, after all.  
  
With that unpleasant thought lingering in my mind, I shouldered my backpack and walked out the door, one hand pressed against my gut and the other holding the strap of my pack. It was raining slightly, a light drizzle that couldn't have gotten me drenched even if all the water was focused solely upon my head. Even so, I got the sharp feeling of needing a rain coat from Bakura. It's always strange when the abuser makes you wear a coat on rainy days and bandage up your sores after he beats you.  
  
School sucked. Because I was late (Bakura made me go back and fetch a heavy coat), I had to stand in the hall holding two buckets of water, which I just frankly couldn't do. Pain was beating at my ribs, and my arm was still twitching from last night. People laughed at me for not being able to take even a minor punishment, calling me 'the British she-boy,' just like Bakura did. It made me cringe and feel like my heart was boiling. I wanted to scream at them and cry at the same time. The only thing that I could ever stand up to was my alarm clock, an *object* that isn't even worth standing up to.  
  
My day continued like this, people laughing when I couldn't run in P.E, or watching me with pity in their eyes when I was sent out of the class room because I hadn't done last night's homework. I felt like a failure, and immature she-boy who can't do anything. It occurred to me that I should be afraid of taking such remarks from people who didn't even know me so seriously, but I was craving affection, craving love, and it cut deep that I was getting just the opposite.  
  
At the house where I lived, I lay sprawled on my bed, staring at the ceiling, doing nothing and feeling nothing. Eventually Bakura took over and went to a Club or something out of sheer boredom, meeting people who had to do with his plans or whatever, and when he got bored he retreated, leaving me alone and confused in the arms of a strange woman. He made me kiss her once, and then ignored me. Why would he do that unless he felt I needed to get out more? And why would he care if I needed to? I ended the kiss, not feeling anything but a tad of embarrassment and shame for her before I left the red and purple bar room with crazy dancers and ear- splitting music. It was hard to find the door, and by the time I finally did, a feeling of being trapped in a stuffy cage was increasing at an alarming rate.  
  
But I didn't go home. I just slid down the wall and onto the sidewalk tiredly, like an old man who has seen many things and been through numerous traumas. The truth was, I didn't want to go back, ever. And that thought scared me more than anything. I knew that rationalizing that I couldn't just leave everything behind wouldn't help because, truthfully, there is nothing that I or my Yami would ever miss. 'Home' is just a word that I can use freely, but I'll probably never feel.  
  
"Need a puff?" I started at the gravely voice at my side. It sounded lame and dead, as did the woman staring at me through dark, half-closed eyelids looked.  
  
I just stared at her, willing myself to say no. But if I had no where to go and no one to miss me, why shouldn't I? My eyes slid to the cigarette- like object she was holding in her tattooed hands, unsure. That wasn't good. That thing had death and jail written all over it.  
  
It shamed me, but the last thought was rather appealing.  
  
I shook my head at her, even as I extended my hand. She took the drug out of her hand and put it in my own palm, smiling and nodding approvingly. "Da way da go, homie." I stared at her. Suddenly this didn't seem so appealing. Truly, deep down, I didn't want to end up like her, alone and weak, completely poor with everything against me and my life down the drain. But thinking about it, I realized that I was already like that.  
  
And without further ado, I made like Dopey from Snow White and joined the club of idiots.  
  
A/N: REVOEW It was morning, and I had to get up. It's just what you do in the morning, get up, no matter how tired or in pain you are. You just roll off the bed and put on some clothes before hurrying to school. That's what I did now, despite my mental and physical protest. Maybe I wouldn't have, maybe I would have defied the rules if a buzzard wasn't screaming in my ear, but there it was, cold and heartless in its attempt to wake me up. I picked the alarm clock up and slammed it against the wall - hard - smiling when I heard it go silent as it slid to the floor, merely a bunch of scrap metal. The clock's me and I'm Bakura, and no one can hurt me or wake me up when I don't want to be woken if I'm Bakura.  
  
I pulled on a new T-shirt and jacket, leaving my jeans that I'd worn yesterday when I passed out on, too tired or lazy to do much else.  
  
Walking into the bathroom, clutching at my side as I did so, I limped through the hall, my right leg numb for some reason. I passed my parents' room nosily, but only got a loud 'SHUT UP.' They had to know that I'm in pain, what with my grunts of effort, and yet they didn't care. They never cared and probably would never care, even if I died. No one would. Why was I even trying to get a little sympathy?  
  
Like always, I took some pills for my pain and bandaged my stomach tightly with strips of cloth I kept under the sink. It never helped, there is no reason that it would, but I did it anyway because *I* cared, and if I didn't, Bakura would do it for me, which is never pleasant.  
  
It's my job to keep his vessel in tip-top shape, after all.  
  
With that unpleasant thought lingering in my mind, I shouldered my backpack and walked out the door, one hand pressed against my gut and the other holding the strap of my pack. It was raining slightly, a light drizzle that couldn't have gotten me drenched even if all the water was focused solely upon my head. Even so, I got the sharp feeling of needing a rain coat from Bakura. It's always strange when the abuser makes you wear a coat on rainy days and bandage up your sores after he beats you.  
  
School sucked. Because I was late (Bakura made me go back and fetch a heavy coat), I had to stand in the hall holding two buckets of water, which I just frankly couldn't do. Pain was beating at my ribs, and my arm was still twitching from last night. People laughed at me for not being able to take even a minor punishment, calling me 'the British she-boy,' just like Bakura did. It made me cringe and feel like my heart was boiling. I wanted to scream at them and cry at the same time. The only thing that I could ever stand up to was my alarm clock, an *object* that isn't even worth standing up to.  
  
My day continued like this, people laughing when I couldn't run in P.E, or watching me with pity in their eyes when I was sent out of the class room because I hadn't done last night's homework. I felt like a failure, and immature she-boy who can't do anything. It occurred to me that I should be afraid of taking such remarks from people who didn't even know me so seriously, but I was craving affection, craving love, and it cut deep that I was getting just the opposite.  
  
At the house where I lived, I lay sprawled on my bed, staring at the ceiling, doing nothing and feeling nothing. Eventually Bakura took over and went to a Club or something out of sheer boredom, meeting people who had to do with his plans or whatever, and when he got bored he retreated, leaving me alone and confused in the arms of a strange woman. He made me kiss her once, and then ignored me. Why would he do that unless he felt I needed to get out more? And why would he care if I needed to? I ended the kiss, not feeling anything but a tad of embarrassment and shame for her before I left the red and purple bar room with crazy dancers and ear- splitting music. It was hard to find the door, and by the time I finally did, a feeling of being trapped in a stuffy cage was increasing at an alarming rate.  
  
But I didn't go home. I just slid down the wall and onto the sidewalk tiredly, like an old man who has seen many things and been through numerous traumas. The truth was, I didn't want to go back, ever. And that thought scared me more than anything. I knew that rationalizing that I couldn't just leave everything behind wouldn't help because, truthfully, there is nothing that I or my Yami would ever miss. 'Home' is just a word that I can use freely, but I'll probably never feel.  
  
"Need a puff?" I started at the gravely voice at my side. It sounded lame and dead, as did the woman staring at me through dark, half-closed eyelids looked.  
  
I just stared at her, willing myself to say no. But if I had no where to go and no one to miss me, why shouldn't I? My eyes slid to the cigarette- like object she was holding in her tattooed hands, unsure. That wasn't good. That thing had death and jail written all over it.  
  
It shamed me, but the last thought was rather appealing.  
  
I shook my head at her, even as I extended my hand. She took the drug out of her hand and put it in my own palm, smiling and nodding approvingly. "Da way da go, homie." I stared at her. Suddenly this didn't seem so appealing. Truly, deep down, I didn't want to end up like her, alone and weak, completely poor with everything against me and my life down the drain. But thinking about it, I realized that I was already like that.  
  
And without further ado, I made like Dopey from Snow White and joined the club of idiots.  
  
A/N: REVIEW!!!! And tell me the truth. ;D 


	3. Mirror Mirror

&  
  
"IDIOT! YOU'RE WORSE THAN A SHE-BOY! HOW THE ****EN HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO USE YOU WHEN YOUR MIND IS DEAD?!?!" I smiled, watching the colors swirl around me. I felt like I was flying; with a bunch of little people waving up at me form the ground. One of them was shouting, but I ignored him, stretching through the air. I felt..happy. I actually felt happy. I laughed aloud to the puny world below, all my troubles a tiny dot in the distance. Everyone should do this, it's so fun! Fun is what this is..and fun is this. I giggled insanely, my head lolling. Another figure shouted up at me in awe, "Whoa man, that was a real whiff!" as I soared even higher. I nodded dumbly, agreeing with them. What. A. Whiff.  
  
(; | ;)  
  
"Ryou. Ryou? Are. You. OK."  
  
I laughed and said, "Blah."  
  
I heard a smack, and a small tingling pain came from my cheek. I faltered in my flying, falling a bit back down to earth. I struggled to keep happy, pain couldn't reach me here. Just for reassurance I said again, "Blah," and it was still funny. I soared higher, my smile widening.  
  
"Ryou, wake up. Wake up NOW."  
  
Nah.  
  
"BAKURA RYOU, SNAP OUT OF IT!" A few seconds of silence. "Why did you do that to yourself? What kind of an idiot-" ouch "-are you, she-boy?" I wasn't so happy any more. I tried saying Blah again, but it came out as a question. "You've been dead for hours, idiot. I can't use you if you don't WAKE UP!"  
  
Fine, I shall sleep forever more, then.  
  
"Why, oh why?" Another slap. "You can't be THIS depressed." Then, a grumble under his breath, "This is all my fault. I shouldn't have beat you so much." Louder, now, "I keep forgetting how weak-willed you are."  
  
Was he actually sorry for what he did to me? His voice had a twinge of regret it in, possibly even sorrow. His hand moved to the back of my head, lifting it off the ground and onto his lap. Why? "Because otherwise it looks like I've killed you, DOPE," he said, his mind entangled in mine. I hadn't even noticed it. He's so subtle. No matter how much I hated to think it, I admired that.  
  
I blinked, and a blurry form came into a recognizable shape that looked like me. "Mirror, Mirror," I whispered. To stare up at myself in such a state that I now lied in, the exact flesh and bone that I carry, is to feel a lurch in the stomach, a very unpleasant, fearful one filled with reality.  
  
Some words were uttered, and then the pavement slammed against my head. I drifted off, again, just weary and tired beyond all reason, feeling dead and hopeless. After years had faded into seconds and seconds into decades, the sky fell. Lurching from the ground, I sputtered at the ice-cold water dripping from my hair and lashes. Two pairs of feet were planted by my side, my eyes moving up to embrace a plastic cup dangling from his hand, still dripping. I spat out the water gathered in my open mouth, shaking my mane.  
  
"UP YOU GO!" Yeah, I'm up, bastard.  
  
A/N: GTG Sleep..Review, please. 


End file.
